Good Night and Good Luck.

Last day in the building at work. The final conversation with Architect didn't extend beyond "Well, enjoy your new space." He hovered for a second after I thanked him before wishing me good luck and leaving my door for the last time. I followed him to the window, where I began to tear up watching him drive out of my life in his SUV of epic proportions. As I started snotting all over the place, the roar of the douchebags behind me became unbearable. They had been parked in the chairs outside my counter all day, talking amongst themselves at a deafening volume. With everything packed, they had nothing productive to even pretend to do any longer.

I turned away from the window in tears and headed towards The Terrible Unisex Bathroom I never got to bone Architect in. Yogapants was in my path, and stopped me when he saw that I was crying. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate any cutting-yourself utensils if you're going to go in there and cut yourself," he said as I pushed passed him.

In the Terrible Unisex Bathroom, I sat on the toilet in my jeans and wept. I couldn't imagine anything I had wanted to say to Architect passing my lips without transforming me into The Whore in 2-R, and so I hadn't said them.

Yogapants was kind to me the remainder of the afternoon, which I appreciated. He asked if he could help me move this, or lift that. I accepted. And as I walked about the building saying my goodbyes, several people hauled off and hugged me. "I'll miss this face in the morning!" one of them said, "But don't be sad. You probably didn't want to move here either, and look how it turned out. Now think of who you'll meet downtown."